WALL-E

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Ever since Toy Story showed the artistic—and, more attractively in
Hollywood, financial—potential of CGI animated films, studios have rushed
to follow, crowding theaters with CGI kids' romps that generally come packed
with celebrity voices and commercial calculation. Meanwhile, Pixar—the
studio behind the Toy Story movies, Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, and more smash hits—has
continued breaking molds, and stayed ahead of the pack largely by focusing on
story and taking risks. The latest stretch comes in the form of Andrew
Stanton's audaciously non-commercial WALL-E, an animated feature that adds in
live-action footage, leans thematically on scenes and songs from a 1969 musical
flop, and largely eschews English dialogue for half its runtime. It's Pixar's
most daring experiment to date, but it still fits neatly into the studio's
pantheon: Made with as much focus on heart as on visual quality, it's a sheer
joy.

Opening on a trash-covered, desolate Earth, the film follows
the titular boxy little robot (the name stands for "waste allocation load
lifter—Earth model"), which has been compacting refuse for 700 years, developing a chipper personality and a
seemingly satisfying 9-to-5 routine in the process. By day, WALL-E socializes
with a friendly cockroach, sifts through garbage for interesting collectables,
then packs and stacks rejected junk into monumental towers of neatly pressed
cubes. At night, he retreats to a snug hideaway and moons over a battered
videotape of lovers holding hands in Hello, Dolly! (A song from the movie, "Put On
Your Sunday Clothes," opens WALL-E, setting its cheery, optimistic tone.) Eventually, WALL-E
gets shaken out of his longtime pattern when a spaceship arrives to deposit a
sleek white robot that simultaneously threatens his way of life and offers an
end to his clearly telegraphed loneliness.

WALL-E is low on plot but high on incident, paced out with
standalone gags, sweet character development, and a series of comedic reveals,
covering what happened to Earth and humanity. (A familiar consumerist attitude
and a megastore called Buy 'N' Large figure prominently into the environmental apocalypse.)
Stanton, who's served as a writer, co-director, producer, or voice talent on
most Pixar projects, has been able to watch his scrappy studio rack up one
box-office success after another, giving him the freedom to take risks like a
lovely robot space ballet completely unconcerned with ADD-addled attention
spans. His audaciousness pays off in a funny, gorgeous, touching film unlike
anything else in theaters—at least until it pays off and other studios
follow suit. By then, expect Pixar to be heading in a new direction.